


0801/1112

by tardiscrash



Category: Tuck Everlasting - Miller/Tysen/Shear & Federle
Genre: I love her, happy birthday to my favourite person elia, this is totally her birthday present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 09:02:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12701670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardiscrash/pseuds/tardiscrash
Summary: It’s the first day of August, and Jesse is waiting for Miles to get home.





	0801/1112

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday Elia! I love you so much and you are my favourite person!

Jesse can hear it.  
The clock, the ticking, the _time_.  
He can hear time passing steadily, because Miles insists on keeping a damn grandfather clock in the corner of his apartment like it's 1836 again.  
It's not 1836; that was almost two hundred years ago. And it's been two hundred years since they drank from the spring. Two hundred eight years, seventy six thousand and forty days; Miles has a tally on his phone - it's a little ridiculous.  
Then again, Miles’ whole apartment is ridiculous; Jesse thought he was the eccentric brother, but Miles’ New Jersey apartment disproves this. The walls are coated with flyers and posters that he's accumulated over the past seventy years. Jesse flicks a trinket on his brother’s mantelpiece, glaring at the old clock and wanting to kick it more than anything.  
Miles is certainly taking his sweet time getting home from Target; the guy’s really been taking this eternal life thing way too far. Last week, he told Jesse that he'd spent four and a half hours watching Vine compilations on YouTube simply because he had all the time in the world to kill. Jesse thought that he might be a little too old for Vine compilations.  
But Jesse needs Miles to be home today; for one, it's unbearably hot, and Miles is the only one who knows how to work the air con. Miles is also the only one who has a working phone (Jesse dropped his in the subway and it was crushed underneath the early morning commute) and they've promised to call their parents in New Hampshire.  
And finally, and the reason that Jesse isn't going to admit - at least until Miles gets him drunk - it's the anniversary of her death today.  
Jesse doesn't find it ironic that the date of her death was sixty seven years after he met her to the day.  
He doesn't find it ironic.  
He wishes he never knew.  
The clock is still ticking, the time is still passing. Outside of the apartment is too quiet; there's no extra noise - not like what Jesse’s gotten used to in New York City.  
A lock rattled behind him, and he hears Miles’ door squeak open, painfully loud.  
“Hey, little brother. I didn’t know you were getting here so early.”  
“Needed to think and I thought your apartment would be cooler than outside. I was wrong.” His snark didn’t go unnoticed. But smiles had known his brother for over two centuries now, and he knew exactly what was wrong.  
“We all loved her, you know,” he says, “Not just you. She fixed us, Jess.”  
“It was-”  
“We know, it was different for you… but we all loved her.”  
He's quiet for too long, Jesse’s ears have readjusted so that he can hear time again.  
“I got you something,” Miles hands his brother a rectangular parcel from his bag, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string; like something from when they were kids.  
Jesse looks up at his brother warily, running a nail down the paper and folding it away, uncharacteristically quiet, uncharacteristically careful.  
And suddenly, she’s there. Looking up at the two of them; eleven years old, blue eyes sparking, Winnie Foster looks exactly like she did when Jesse ran into her one hundred and twenty three years to the day.  
“But I…” he begins, “How did you… I mean, what?”  
“I, uh, I saw an advertisement on the television,” Miles scratched his head, “These people, they’d describe someone, and an artist would draw them without ever seeing them. I knew how much you missed her and… and I know that, if it was possible, I’d want a similar portrait of Thomas so… so I called the artist.”  
“Thank you, Miles. Honestly, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Jesse looked at the painting, already set in a wooden frame that Miles must’ve bought whilst he was out.  
“It’s no problem, little brother. Now come on, let’s call Mom and Dad.”  
The clock is still ticking and time is still passing, but it doesn’t bother Jesse as much anymore.  
At least not right now anyway. 


End file.
